


Eighty eight

by Tisaniere



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22636831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tisaniere/pseuds/Tisaniere
Summary: Every relationship has its problems from day one. If you're lucky, none are insurmountable. If you're very unlucky, they are insurmountable from day one.
Relationships: William Nylander/David Pastrnak
Kudos: 27
Collections: 2019-2020 Mixed Team Exchange





	Eighty eight

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [PuckingRare2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2018) collection. 

> OK so this is...sad, although I guess sort of hopeful at the end? I am sorry. I have never written these two before or in the present tense, so I had to wrestle this whole thing into existence. It was fun though!
> 
> *there's references to implied danger/violence but nothing bad (outside of relationship angst) actually happens.*

ALL STAR 2020

“So who are you looking forward to seeing the most this weekend?

“Er, you know, just everyone I kind of know around the league, but also would be nice to meet some of the players I don’t get to know unless it’s at things like this.”

“Who would you say you’re closest friends with on the All Star Roster?”

“You want me to say Pasta? Let’s go with David Pastrnak. Because he’s right next to me, he’ll be mad if I don’t.”

“Damn right I would.”

* * *

Their interviews wrap up around the same time. They are both enveloped in the sea of fans that had been allowed into the hotel lobby. They both sweat a little too much for comfort underneath their teams’ All Star jerseys. Their publicists both make the same windmill motions at the exact same time and they both cling to them like a life raft to get out of the scrum.

“Great day,” the Maple Leaf’s comms director says to Nylander as he shoulder-barges him through the chaos to the elevators. “We squeezed in as much as we could, think we’ve got the biggest things ticked off.”

“You got the itinerary for tomorrow?” the Bruins social media person asks David, jostling the PR team from Pittsburgh as they back up into them. “Just message me if you’ve got any questions. Have a good night.”

The two professionals from two different teams slap their charges on the back then peel away at the same time, leaving David and Nylander staring at their blurred reflections in the elevator doors. The door pings and they both step in at the same time.

David waits until the doors are shut before he turns to Nylander, his chipped grin full of promises.

“How is your first All Star going, rookie?”

“Shut up,” Nylander laughs, prodding his shoulder into David’s chest. “I did the AHL All Star.”

“Yeah but this is big leagues, proper stars here. You need me to introduce you to some people?”

Nylander shakes his head. “Fuck off.”

The elevator has fifteen floors to climb, the speed just above turtle. David leans against the mirrored back wall and watches William play with his phone. His hair is starting to curl at the ends like it does when he gets too hot. It’s hard not to put his fingers in, peel it back off the nape of his neck and pull a little, just enough to see it blend into the white of his Maple Leafs ASG jersey.

But he doesn’t. Security cameras are the worst invention.

William feels himself being stared at, but doesn’t look up.

“We promised Mitchy we’d go for a drink later.”

“Oh, he’s OK drinking with the enemy then?”

“As long as it’s just you and Brad doesn’t come.“

“What does he think about you sleeping with the enemy?” David asks, angling his head lower, trying to catch William’s avoiding gaze where it’s turned to his phone.

“Who says I’d be doing that?” William asks, easy as anything. He finally looks up as their floor number pings above the door.

“When do you want to go?”

“Half an hour. Give that time to clear out downstairs.”

William looks back at David with a little frown between his brows when they get to his hotel room door.

“What?”

“What what?

“Why are you coming to my room?”

“You said half hour. I can get ready in less than that.”

“Er, no you cannot.”

A voice floats down the hallway towards them. “Hey guys!”

It’s Eric Staal. They both wave a hand back before he disappears. David pokes William in the side until he aligns the key card properly and gets them into his room. The poking turns to his hands under his jersey, balling up all the white, un-breathable fabric to get his palms onto skin.

“Stop, stop, stop,” William laughs, doing nothing to actually make him stop. “Actually, take this stupid thing off, I’m too hot in it.”

David does as he’s told, none too gently.

“Jesus, watch the hair.”

William still ends up caught in a tangle between his hair, the jersey, the shirt he’s wearing underneath and the two necklaces around his throat.

When William emerges from the mess David kisses him on the nose.

“We can’t do this,” Willy breathes against his lips, even as his fingers pull on David’s belt loops. “Not now. We’ve got to get ready.”

“We can do both.”

“We really can’t.”

They stand making out for a while, their fingers lazily entwined at their sides.

“See. We’ve got twenty five minutes now.”

“Plenty of time for me. Maybe not for you and your hair.”

William finally unwinds himself from David’s clinging hands and heads into the bathroom. David picks up William’s jersey from the floor and folds it on the bed absently, listening to the sounds of Nylander brushing his teeth.

David’s phone pings.

“Hey Pasta, what time actually is it? Do I have time to take a shower?”

David reads the text on his screen one more time. Then again.

“What the fuck?” he breathes out loud, whether in Czech or English he doesn’t even know.

_David stay in your room. Theres some security shit going on downstairs._

_Theyre telling us not to leave our rooms._

_“_Pasta?”

“Wh-what?” David asks his phone.

“David!”

“What? Shit, William, not right now.”

William leans his head around the bathroom door, just in a too-thin hotel towel.

“What’s wrong?”

David holds up his phone.

“Look what Brad said.”

William reads the message with one eyebrow up. “Are you kidding me? What kind of a joke is that?”

David frowns. “What? You think it’s a joke?”

“Oh come on, it’s Marchand.”

William’s phone begins to chime like a bell.

“Oh shit. Maybe not. Freddie just messaged me: been told to stay in my room, they said there’s a security threat or something. Where are you?”

William hits call whilst David tries to peck out his own response with sweaty fingers.

“Hey Freddie. What the hell is going on, is this real? Yeah…no I know, David got a message from Marchand about it. There’s a guy downstairs?”

David’s phone vibrates.

_No I’m serious Pasta don’t come out ur room. Don’t know what’s going on. _

“Is Mitchy with you? OK…yeah, I’m with Pasta, we’re in my room. Alright.”

William hangs up and heads to the door.

“What are you doing?”

“Just looking out the peep hole.”

“What, think you can see everything that’s going on?”

William sighs and moves back.

“OK, fine. But, what, we just sit here?”

David is still frantically typing away on his phone but he sits on the hotel bed and shrugs. “It’s police’s job.”

William’s smile twists a little. “I don’t know, who are the guys doing fastest shooter? Send them down there with some sticks and pucks, they could do some damage.”

David rolls his eyes.

“Sounds safe.”

“But what does ‘security threat’ mean? Like, someone with a bomb? Or a gun? Or just someone who didn’t have a media pass?”

William strides over to the window and peers down onto the streets of St Louis. Blue lights strobe across the sidewalk outside, and the media are being ushered out onto the street.

“Wow. This shit’s serious.”

They message and call teammates around the hotel and handle the incoming calls from others - friends and family and agents.

Half an hour later, there’s no sounds from outside. Everything is quiet except for the occasional new emergency service vehicle caterwauling its way through the crowds. William takes up a position on the window ledge and watches from above. David stretches out on the bed and puts on the TV.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“I want to be able to hear if some maniac is trying to get in our room.”

David switches it off.

“OK. What else you wanna do?”

William narrows his eyes at David’s lecherous grin. Most of David’s grins are lecherous though, so he isn’t sure why he is so susceptible to it.

“No.”

“What? We were going to anyway.”

“No, _you_ wanted to. I wanted to have a shower.”

“Take a shower then.”

“Oh, so I can be naked when I die at the hands of a psycho?”

“It’s probably nothing,” David says with a sigh. “They’re just jumpy.”

William slides off the windowsill and meanders over to the bed David is sprawled on. He pokes at the plush headboard with a finger, considering.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking if the headboard makes a noise.”

David smirks. “I thought you didn’t want to.”

“Not right now,” William says, loftily. David does not miss the look that passes over him as William considers his next words. “Maybe, but later. Or tomorrow.”

“Head board in my room was perfect. Didn’t make a sound.”

“Good, Elias Pettersson is in the next room.”

David folds his hands behind his head, because he knows how to work his angles and he thinks he can tempt William no matter his mood. “You think he say something to people?”

“God no, he’s Swedish. It’s not the sort of thing we do. But he’d just, like, _look _at us in the morning. You know? With that face of his. Like he knew what had happened and he was never going to forget it. And he’d do it every time I had to see him ever again.”

“A look? Wow. Deadly.”

A door slams somewhere in the corridor and they both shoot up. A long silence follows, just the sound of their pulses banging in their ears.

There’s nothing outside the door. The sounds of the crowd and police outside remain a background hubbub, no spikes of panic.

David out lets a long breath that’s a little shaky and scoops up his phone again. They both do another round of messaging, David on the bed and William migrating back to the window.

* * *

“Are you not hot in that?” William asks. He’s just in his shirt and he’d exchanged his pants for a soft pair of shorts a while ago. He’s sprawled on the random chair there always is in a hotel bedroom, for the desk he’s never going to sit at and is currently doubling up as his wardrobe. The heels of his bare feet can just about sit on the end of the mattress like this. He’s staring at David, still in his jersey and dress pants, even his fancy loafers.

“And by the way, get your shoes off my bed.”

“Make me.”

William lobs one of his own shoes in David’s direction. It his him square in the stomach and he ‘oofs’ with a heavy dose of sincere pain.

“Take your shoes off.”

David concedes and toes them off.

“Ew, you don’t wear socks?”

“With loafers? Of course not.”

“No but like those tights sock things. So your feet don’t get all sweaty.”

“No.”

William wrinkles his nose.

“Come on, you love my sweaty feet.”

“I really don’t.”

“Liar. You love them.”

William sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “This is so boring. As if the media stuff wasn’t enough now we’re just stuck here all night?”

“The group chat going crazy,” David concedes, his phone in his hands as it has been all night.

“Anyone know anything?”

“Barzal says he heard it was someone with a gun, but Nico said it was knife. And then others say it was a hoax, but they have to make sure.”

William groans and cracks his neck. “This is going to take forever.”

“Well we could entertain ourselves.”

“_No_,” William says firmly, playing with the pendant on his necklace absently. David watches him and tongues his damaged front teeth. He doesn’t know if William is aware he’s palming the things he wears to remember David by whilst simultaneously turning him down at every step.

“Why not?”

“Not in the mood. And what if we have to be evacuated? I’m not walking out of the All Star hotel tucking myself in and wearing the wrong clothes.”

David grins. “Sounds good to me.”

William rolls his eyes and David’s smile falters.

It’s been this the whole weekend. William prickly and awkward. David straightforward and finding himself grasping as the empty spaces Will vacates quicker than he can register.

William’s foot is jiggling over his other leg, hard enough to make the bed shake. He decides to go a different tact.

“Want to put something on Insta?”

“What? No.”

“Hashtag locked in room together.”

“_No_. Imagine what people would say.”

David frowns at him, “Like what?”

“You know.”

“No, I don’t.” David sits up on the bed. “Is _that _why you being so weird?”

“Is what?”

“That ‘best couples in the NHL’ thing that went everywhere.”

That ‘best couples in the NHL’ thing was a list written by an online journalist listing the best couples- fictitious, of course, the author was at pains to explain - within the league. It was basically an underhand way of writing the sort of talk that players and staff whispered amongst themselves and making it just enough of a joke that the fans wouldn’t have a heart attack.

David had seen his and William’s names on there and just laughed. It was a joke, after all. The caption under their photo was ‘Romeo and Juliet?’ Which had made him laugh even more.

OK so it was a joke that turned out to be true, but it wasn’t a press release. It was just clickbait.

“Come on it was just a stupid thing.”

“I know,” William snaps, suddenly exasperated. “I didn’t even mention it, you did.”

David had sent it on to William and got a terse ‘lol’ in return. Nothing else. Not even an emoji.

“Yeah but you bothered by it? It’s just stupid, it’s nothing. No-one knows.”

“I know! I didn’t say it was that.”

“OK. Fine.”

* * *

David gets a call from his mother and she demands to be placed on speaker phone so that she can hear William is OK too. William has already told his family that he’s fine on their group WhatsApp - Alex has been encouraging him to go into full John McClane mode for a while. He doesn’t tell David, because it’s exactly the sort of stupid thing he’d want to do.

William has migrated to the windowsill again. This feeling that’s been chipping away at him since he landed in St Louis, since he was hours away from seeing David again, it’s finally eroding down to the nerve. It’s starting to get inside him like toothache and not let go.

“She tells me to give you a hug from her,” David says as he finally hangs up. He wiggles his hands to where William is tucked up against the cold windowpane.

“Yeah, I’m not moving.”

He doesn’t fail to miss the slight flinch around David’s eyes that he tries to play off as an overdramatic hurt.

William gets it, he does. He knows what he’s doing. But it’s harder to do something about it than to just sit and stew in it.

“You’re still wearing your jersey,” William says, instead of what wants to say.

“I’m not hot.”

“Fine,” he says testily. “Just saying. Any news?”

“My agent says they have biohazard people in the hotel. What is that, bio-hazard? Like, drugs?”

“More like poison. Or nuclear shit.”

“This is so fucked up,” David says into his phone. William looks at the soles of his feet, calloused and roughed by years of wearing skates, and watches him wiggle his toes. They’re not exactly pretty feet, but they’re David’s. William knows them so well that it’s kind of weird. Everything about their relationship is kind of weird.

* * *

“Hey, are you getting hungry?”

“Well now I am! Why did you mention it?”

“Wish we could get room service.”

It’s now dark outside, but the patch outside their hotel is still mottled blue and red.

Their lock-in is ‘indefinite’, both had been told by their agents. David is feeling more and more sorry for the guys with their families and kids here. Being locked in a hotel room and unable to leave with babies or toddlers sounded like hell.

He just had William. He hadn’t ever imagined a time he didn’t appreciate having enforced solo time with Nylander, but here it was.

Maybe one of them needs to be the grown up here.

“What’s going on, William?”

“I don’t know, haven’t heard anything new.”

“No, not with this. With you. With us.”

William looks at him finally, his hair half in his eyes.

“Nothing.”

“No? You been weird, all weekend. And for like a week on the phone.”

William doesn’t bother denying it.

David sits up and spreads his legs in front of him settling his hands between them and trying to not stare down at them. He needs to look at William, try and track the little looks across the face to know when he’s hiding, ducking, lying.

Normally he can read William’s face like a book. Knowing a guy since you were fifteen and seeing him in every state possible made that easy. But these last few days he’s been evading him.

“What’s happening?”

William looks at him for a long moment. His leg is jigging again.

“What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do we…do we, like, do something about this? About us?”

“What do we need to do?”

William breaks the contact and looks down at his hands. The necklace David bought for him gets caught under his chin and he unknowingly scoops it up with his mouth and tongues it.

David waits.

“We’ve been doing this since we were like sixteen. Does something need to change?”

“Like what?”

Footsteps begin to thunder down their corridor. The pair jump up and stand frozen in the room listening. There’s shouting, and more thumping. A crackle of a walkie talkie cuts through the middle of everything.

David and William both run to the door and then are repelled back by the sound of shouting. More footsteps run and then are gone in a wave of pounding.

They are both panting as the silence comes back. They are chest to back, looking at their hotel door, close enough to feel the heat off one another.

Both of their phones start to bing.

_Did u hear that? _

_Wtf was that?_

_Were they chasing someone?_

_Guys think about putting something in front of door. Just in case_

* * *

They can’t move the bed, so they slide the desk in front of the hotel room door. Apparently Mitch and Frederik have done this down the hallway. Brad has done the same and dumped the minibar on top of it.

Messages are flying everywhere. Talk of a man with a gun, of a group with weapons, of it being a prank gone wrong, of it being a huge hoax. No-one knows.

William folds himself on the floor, back pressed against the connecting wall to the en-suite. David takes up his original spot on the bed.

“This is fucked up,” William breathes after a while.

“Yeah. If it’s real, what do you think he wants?”

“No, not the guy. This.”

David holds his breath.

“What this?”

“Us.”

David sits up. His chest constricts at the sight of William. His hair is dishevelled, but without any of the stylish artfulness he usually curates it into. It’s just ragged and run through, just like Willy. He looks tired, his mouth downturn. David can’t pretend he hasn’t seen William like this before - crumpled up like discarded paper, black-eyed and disconsolate. But it was rare, rare enough to make David pause.

“What do you mean?”

“What…what is this, David? It’s the All Star weekend so we get to spend it all together. But, like…is that it? Is this all we get to do?”

“There’s summer,” David says automatically, not even touching the core of this heavy, momentous issue now hanging over them. He can barely scrape the sides of it without wincing.

“And what happened last summer?” William snaps back, almost spitting the words out.

Last summer. 

David had met a girl. That was fine, they both agreed. It had happened before, it would happen again. They couldn’t…things were different for them than a lot of couples. Then William had found a girl too. And that summer the two boys they didn’t have a whole lot of time for one another. David was between the Czech Republic and America, with time in Canada and a ski trip in Slovenia laced in between. William had family time in Sweden, then he traipsed through Italy with friends. Then an old mutual friend from their junior hockey days got in touch about a cabin in Austria out in the mountains, owned by his family. Reunion time? Of course, they’d both said, separately. Bring your new girlfriends, I want to meet them, their friend had said.

Two weeks before their respective training camps they’d found themselves stranded up a mountain with two girls sat between them on the couch. It was different, William realised, to see David with a girl through instagram or through text. But to see him there, tucking her under his arm, showing off for her. It was too much.

They got on famously, Elise and Emma. They didn’t notice the tension between two old friends, these two guys that they’d just started to get to know. They were all young and having fun and nothing was meant to be serious. But it still made William feel queasy to think of the times he and David stole away from the group. They used their steadily increasing training schedule to be together more and more. To work out and kiss and fuck, both miserably angry with themselves, with each other, with their situation.

Both girls had fallen by the wayside after that holiday, though William was vaguely aware they were still friends. At least that was something.

David shakes his head. “What about summer?”

“Oh, really?”

“Look it was what it was, ok? You broke up with Elise, I broke up with Emma. It doesn’t matter.”

“You said that we had to stop doing this. And then we end up doing…fuck, that whole trip we were together, we couldn’t even stay away from each other when we had girlfriends.”

“I never said we had to stop this. You said it.”

William rolls his eyes and let his head fall back against the windowpane. “We agreed. We both agreed.”

“If you so weird about it, why did you do it? I didn’t make you.”

“I didn’t like seeing you with her,” William says, forcibly enough that his voice whip-cracks against the glass by his cheek and he winces.

David is sitting up, two high points of red on his cheeks. “I didn’t like seeing you with someone either!”

“This is why I said we should stop this!”

“See!” David says, jabbing a finger. “_You _say we should stop this! I never do! And then when we do, you go on and on about what we are doing.”

“So you want to stop?”

“_No_.” David chokes on a few words then looks down at the crumpled bedspread beneath him. He’s definitely too hot in his jersey now. His hair has wilted, his ears are flushed. He doesn’t say anything. “But you say. So I do. And then you say let’s go again, so I do. I do what you say, William. I just wish you finally decide. We’ve had fun this weekend, but then you get in your head and now…”

There’s a thump on their door, the distinctive sound of a fist banging against wood.

It’s the police, who William and David open the door up to reluctantly and with a lot of effort to drag away the table.

They’re told to stand with their backs to the wall as armed men take a sweep of the room. They’re asked if they’ve seen or heard anything suspicious. They both say no.

The team leave almost as quickly as they came, warning them to put the desk back against the door. They don’t answer any of their questions and they don’t look them in the eye.

Once they’re gone David stays against the desk, and doesn’t look William in the eye either. He strips off his jersey whilst William watches and drops it in a heap on the floor.

“Let’s finish this,” he says after a long time. William stares down at his jersey, refusing to look up, his eyes hot and wet.

“Let’s break up. We stop this, now. Because I can’t…I can’t keep doing this William.” William closes his eyes briefly. “You say yes then no, now but not then, here but not there. I can’t do it.”

There’s more banging in the corridor and William winces, turns his head away from it.

“Yeah. Alright.”

“OK?”

“OK. We’ll do that then.”

He feels more than hears David’s intake of breath.

“William…”

“You said it, so let’s do it.”

“But I-“

“I can’t be the first, OK?” William snaps. He suddenly and desperately wants to call his family. To talk to his parents and hear his brothers’ and sisters’ voices. There’s more thundering beyond the door and the crackle of a walkie-talkie.

“The first what?”

“The first player who comes out! The first player who says he isn't straight, who has a boyfriend, whatever.” His voice cracks right down the middle. “I can’t be the first, OK? I can’t.”

David moves towards William even as he wants to put miles between them, get on a plane and tuck himself into Boston where it’s OK not to be within touching distance of William Nylander.

“I know,” he says quietly. He slips a hand onto William’s wrist, the first time he’s touched him since they locked the door against the danger outside. “I know.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. It’s true, he does know. And it’s monumental, and crazy, and devastating, that he can love someone as completely and thoroughly as he does William and not be able to say it. To his friends, to his family, to his agent, to his teammates. If he can’t say the truth aboutWilliam Nylander, a boy he’s loved for years…then surely he’s run out of truth for the rest of his existence. This is the only truth he has and he loses it every time someone asks him about his love life, who the ‘latest lucky girl’ is.

“I’m sorry,” William says, his wrist slack in David’s fingers.

“I get it.”

“It doesn’t make it OK.” William draws himself up but he can’t look at David, turns his eyes the frantic blue kaleidoscope outside. “It’s not OK, and I’m sorry.”

William cries into David’s neck, and David does the same into his hair.

They lift the lockdown at 3am. The hotel is cleared, everything is safe. There's rumours of a hoax or of just hysteria creating a problem that didn't exist. The boys drag the desk back from the door and David wanders out, shell-shocked. It’s easy to blend in with the anxious crowds milling around, because no-one knows what happened in that hotel room except him and William.

Except maybe Freddie and Mitch, who he passes in the corridor. They walk around him with speed and purpose to William’s room, responding to a message he must have sent the second David was out of arm’s reach. He looks over his shoulder as he fiddles with his key card and catches a glimpse of Andersen’s set and steely eyes, Mitch’s concerned frown, as they enter the room.

There are guys spilling out of every other room, some with their families, others with teammates. He ends up reeled in by the Brad and they go to get a drink for their nerves. He sits and numbly listens to the play-by-play of the whole night from various viewpoints - from Brad, from Steven Stamkos, the Tkachuk brothers and the fleet of press officers and marketing staff who had been stashed in a dark storeroom for the whole lock down. They drink the bar dry whilst David warms his one glass up with his hand, disengaged.

In his room upstairs, William buckles against his bed and doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a sound. He lets Freddie rub a hand up and down his back and Mitch sit by his head, one hand squeezing his shoulder enough to hurt and the other resting on his hair. They know, they have for years. And even then William still can’t say anything to them about David Pastrnak. But they know things he can’t articulate, which makes them a piece of his life no matter how the world chooses to describe them - friends, teammates, colleagues, it doesn’t matter. They know a part of William he can’t speak out loud, so he shows them the dust that that part has become and they recognise it for what it is.

Later, Brad takes David back to his room.

“You OK?” he asks sincerely, wedging himself between the door and the frame so that David can’t shove him out.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Look, that was some heavy shit here this evening. We didn’t know it was all going to be alright in the end. It’s OK to be freaked out by it.”

David should be more freaked out about it than he is. “I know. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, but you look like shit.”

David swallows some words back and realises with a fright that his eyes have got hot and wet.

“Just tired. Long day.”

“Yeah,” Brad says, eyes not leaving David’s. His voice is buzzing in his pocket with his wife quite rightly demanding he come back to the room sometime soon. He hesitates, but he doesn’t know what else to say. “Ok. Night, Pasta. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Sure,” David says, barely a whisper, and shuts the door smartly behind Brad.

* * *

David wakes up barely three hours later, at sunrise, because the blinds are wide open and William Nylander is in his bed.

“I can’t do it,” Willy says, into David’s shoulder. “I can’t do it either way. I can’t be without you and I can’t be with you.”

“I know,” David whispers back. “It fucking sucks.”

“We’ll work it out though, right?” William asks, sounding young, so young. David’s never felt more at sea and less capable of dealing with this than he does right now. 

“Of course,” David says, lifting his arm and wrapping it around Willy tightly. “We will one day. I promise.”


End file.
